Fork in the Road
by DeniseV
Summary: In "Rolling Thunder", it seemed to me that there was more conversation in the living room of the gatehouse after those thugs tried to kidnap Mark. This is my "extension" of that scene.


Sarah knew from the way the ex-con was moving, barely moving, that the beating he had taken at the hands of those two men had caused some damage. Mark was clearly hurting. But honestly, it was hard for her to get into comfort mode because of what she saw as the character trait that would be the end of this latest attempt by the judge with an ex-con before it even got started: the smart mouth. Oh, such a mouth! Quick, clever, sometimes irreverent, and unfortunately, oft times that she'd seen so far – unthinking. It was hard for her more maternal side to take its rightful place and help the young man when he spoke the way he did, especially when he used that wiseacre attitude with the judge. Judge Milton C. Hardcastle was a good man, probably the best she'd ever known, and he didn't deserve the kind of guff that this young ex-con was giving him. She left the room briefly as Hardcastle explained the rules of who was allowed to put their feet up where, and continued to hear easy banter, some serious talk, and a little laughter emanating from the living room – from both men. She never remembered hearing any of that with the other ex-cons that the judge had brought home. In fact, she heard something very different in the judge's voice; if she were to choose one word to describe what she heard she'd use _affection_, and that very thought surprised her. She found what she was looking for in the freezer, and then went to the linen closet.

"So, is that how it's gonna be?" she heard McCormick ask the judge. "You can do whatever you want but everything I do is wrong and will be scrutinized as such?"

"_Scrutinized as such_? Where did you learn to talk like that?" Hardcastle returned, followed by, "And the answer to your question is an emphatic yes. You're not the only one around here who knows some fifty dollar words, Kiddo."

"More like fifteen," Mark replied mockingly as he continued to gently rub his right jaw…and cheek and eye.

"You think you're funny and smart, but I know better," the judge said as he continued to rest, his eyes closed and his feet up on _his_ coffee table.

"Oh you do, do you?"

"Yes I do. I know it's a defense mechanism. I know that you've used that mouth of yours to survive, but remember, you're dealing with someone in a whole different league now, Kid. You'd be wise to think about that before you open your mouth."

"We don't have a deal here yet, Hardcase. I'm not sure we're gonna have one, so I don't think I have to take that advice."

"The alternative option is always there for you to take. The fork in the road, Kiddo. It's your decision."

McCormick tapped Hardcastle's foot with his own. "Does that mean I have to ask before I do anything, because I'm not too sure I can live like that, Judge."

"Nah, of course not. Well, maybe for a little while," Hardcastle replied, keeping his eyes closed but his mind firmly on the topic at hand.

"I figured. It's not a whole lot different from being in prison," McCormick answered smartly. Suddenly, McCormick felt a cold, wet smack on his chest. It hit right where a punch had landed earlier, and he let out a pained groan, followed by, "What the hell?"

"Ice pack. It'll help," Sarah said as she headed to the door. "And watch your language." She eyed McCormick warningly, then turned to the judge and added, "I have work to do."

"Thanks, Sarah," Hardcastle called as she opened the door.

"Yeah, Sarah, thanks a lot," Mark said acerbically as he picked up the ice pack from his chest and moved it to cover the entire right side of his face. McCormick figured she'd heard his reply by the sound - and vibration - of the door slamming on her way out.

"Don't be snide, she's just trying to help." Hardcastle opened his eyes and looked at the ex-con appraisingly. "You don't look so good."

Mark snorted, lowered the ice pack and then raised one eyebrow. "No?" he asked as he placed the pack more squarely on his aching jaw.

"No. You feeling okay?"

"I hurt everywhere right now, but I'll be fine. We got work to do."

"That's the right outlook, Sport," the judge said as he stood, stretched and made to leave.

"Thanks," McCormick said, projecting a somewhat less than stellar outlook than what he'd just verbalized.

"You better rest up," Hardcastle said, ignoring the tone coming from the young man before him. "Once we get that car, we're gonna be going non-stop 'til this thing is done." The judge walked out, leaving Mark McCormick wondering just what in the hell he'd gotten himself into, but thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was something here, a situation that he just might be able to live with, so long as he didn't resort to murder first.

The End.


End file.
